Chapter Text
Levi is a man of simple pleasures. A good cup of tea, a clean space, and a good book are all he needs to feel some semblance of order, sanity, or whatever that feeling is that blooms in his chest… but lately. He’s found the sensation isn’t quite happening. The itch he’s tried so desperately to scratch for the last few weeks has been less than satisfactory.
He’s drunk countless cups of tea in the empty mess hall, roaring fire in the fireplace, leaning back against the wall. He’s read plenty of books when he’s gotten a spare second between missions and paperwork. He has even tried to lie down in bed to relax in a desperate attempt to capture that feeling again. It’s been to no avail, falling flat and providing no release.
He’s always been known to be rock solid, steady. Maybe he’s bad at feelings, but he won’t buckle when someone leans on him. However, as of late, this lack of feeling, the dissatisfaction, is eating him up. He’s become countless times more irritable, almost twitchy. It’s been especially hard to focus and stay present. It’s a conundrum. A feeling he’s chasing that he can’t quite describe, but also can’t seem to function without.
His footsteps echo through the headquarters corridor, black polished boots confident in stride as he makes his way towards the exit. There’s a newer group of recruits training today, and while he’s not directly in charge of them, he still wants a good look at the group for potential's sake. He needs another member to join his squad.
Someone with a good head on their shoulders, laid back, a quick thinker in the field, he thinks. It would be a good balance for the rest of his team. He has yet to find anyone currently to take on the role and is hoping some fresh blood will do the group good.
Easier to form a bond and loyalty with the other members of his squad if they’re otherwise detached. It’s easier to mold them to the role they’ll be needed in. He’s sure he could mold anyone to what he wanted with a little grunt work (well-placed violence and discipline), but with the upcoming few months that Erwin has planned, he won’t have the time.
He exits the building into the chilly outdoors. It’s just starting to cool off, early autumn. The leaves are hinting at turning, and the breezes are stiff, although not quite cold enough to make a difference in training. The light is mellow in the afternoon sun as he walks closer to the field of cadets. They’re doing routine training, nothing particularly major, but something that is worth watching for that someone he’s been looking for.
His eyes scan the group as he approaches, expression indifferent, but beneath, he’s evaluating. He spots Miche on the sidelines, giving instructions, pointers as the cadets go round for round in sparring sessions, and nods at him. Miche is aware of why he’s here and has already given him a few names to go by.
Not all the newer people have been assigned to their own squadrons yet. What would be the point? Half of them will be titan fodder after their first expedition.
You spot him from the corner of your eye. You can tell he’s observing, but you’re not quite sure who he is to tell the truth. He’s on the shorter side, with black cropped hair, something like defiance in his ramrod straight stance. He looks like a total hard ass, you summarize, trying to gauge the situation. He must be important if he’s observing.
While that fact should rouse you to do your best, it intrigues you more than anything. Usually, the higher-ups aren’t this good-looking, and the man is rather appealing even from this distance. A sharp jaw, hard, deep-set eyes, and broad shoulders despite his smaller stature. You catch his eye, just barely, before he’s looking away.
I really should focus, you chide yourself, glancing back to the current predicament.
The evaluation of the devastatingly handsome mystery man must come to an end, as you’re currently locked in a circle with another cadet, squaring off. Some blonde girl. She introduced herself, but you hadn’t caught her name, more so focused on a quick takedown -impersonal, easy. She’s small and petite, which makes her quicker, but she’s not a heavy hitter; you decide, simple to overwhelm with brute force.
She rushes you immediately, apparently with a similar mindset to your own. Quick, efficient, to the point. Her foot swipes at your own feet, and she attempts to shove you down, hands finding your chest. You can’t use brute force if you’re on the ground, the girl has clearly reasoned. Her foot lands its mark, too fast for you to counter, but your hand finds the front of her shirt as you hit the ground, pulling her down with you.
There’s alarm in her expression, and her brown eyes widen as you try to put a little force into the motion when you both hit the ground, slamming her down on her side right next to you. She’s clearly caught off guard. You take the opportunity to immediately scramble to sedate her. Your side aches from hitting the ground. There’s definitely going to be a bruise tomorrow, but it’s worth it to have knocked her off her game. It’s worth it if you win.
Your breathing is heavy; the world blurred in the background as you scramble onto the girl. Your attention is laser-focused. She’s trying to shove you off, trying to find a grip to lock you into a hold, anything, but you’ve already found the advantage.
She huffs, frustrated. You barely register it as you grip one of her wrists and scramble up to pin her to the ground. You don’t notice the dark blue eyes focused on your back, on the match, handsome mystery man forgotten.
He's not quite impressed with the counter, as juvenile as it was. The blonde girl was quick, but clearly, you were a quick thinker. He mentally catalogues this for later. He’s not sure if you were one of the names Miche gave him, but he’s thinking you might be.
The match is over in moments, which does, however, impress him. The fact that you were able to hit the ground and immediately have your next move carefully plotted or improvised to completely disarm your opponent, pain and discomfort notwithstanding.
The girl yelps as you climb over her, pinning her squarely to the ground. You keep your face decidedly away from hers as she glares at you, her displeasure evident at having been taken down so quickly. You only grit your teeth in response, breathing heavily, ribs burning from having the breath knocked out of you. You were moving again before you had a chance to catch it, and you try to slow your racing heart.
A moment passes.
“Can you get off of me already?” the girl snaps at you.
“He’s already watched you take me down, so you don’t have to keep rubbing it in,” she adds, glare burning hot.
Her cheeks are flushed as well, you presume with embarrassment, but you do as she asks. You slide off her, sitting on the ground, breath almost caught up. She begins to get to her feet, trying to swipe off some of the dirt from her trousers and the side of her shirt.
“It’s just Miche. He’s not going to say anything,” you say, glancing up at her from your seated position.
You begin to swipe at the dirt coating your knees from where you had crawled atop her.
“It’s not him I’m worried about,” she responds, expression only darkening further.
Your brows furrow, confused. You begin to push yourself off the ground, trying to ignore the screaming of your ribs while you do so. Definitely a nasty bruise, you summarize, grimacing slightly.
“I know you saw him too,” she accuses, her gaze focused on you, burning with something akin to resentment.
Man, this girl has a temper, you think to yourself, all while dusting the remaining dirt from your bottom and the side of your shirt. Luckily, there’s no stain.
“The man who was observing. The short one?” you ask, glancing at her, still not quite understanding why the hell it’s such a big deal.
You vaguely think he must be quick, too, since he’s so little. Wonder if he’d be easy to take down? Probably not as easy as the blonde girl standing with her arms crossed and expression utterly black as she watches you try to gather yourself.
“The short one?” she asks sarcastically.
“…. Yeah?” you say, brows only furrowing deeper.
What the hell is her problem?
It seems your ignorance of the situation only furthers her spite. She promptly turns on her heel to exit the sparring circle, hips swishing slightly as she does so. The back of her blonde hair is a total rat’s nest from having been pinned to the ground. It makes the victory sweeter.
“Let him hear you say that,” she spits over her shoulder, tone venomous, before leaving you to your own devices.
You give her a look, one that’s both confused and annoyed, but she doesn’t quite catch it, having turned her back on you.
How odd…
You glance around now that the heated exchange has come to an end, noting that most of the pairs are starting to break up now as well. Time for another switch, hopefully something easy. Your eyes graze over the mass of cadets, not quite sure what you’re looking for until your eyes land on him again. The mystery man.
He’s standing beside Miche now, speaking to him. His arms are folded across his chest, expression like stone, skin ivory. You can’t catch what they’re saying, but you do observe. It’s a natural thing for you – to watch, to overhear conversations without quite meaning to, to blend into the scenery as a silent other.
Your eyes roam over him. Maybe he’s more important than you had suspected. You know he’s a whole lot better looking than you initially thought, now able to get a proper look at him since he’s a little closer.
Muscled, broad shoulders, but a slender waist. Hair neat, cropped. The cut of it flatters the sharp planes of his face and his high cheekbones. His eyes are something to behold. They stand out starkly with his dark hair and fair complexion. It’s hard not to appreciate his looks, but you don’t get much further. He catches your roving eyes and narrows his own. The defiance in them catches you off guard, a subtle correction.
Get back to work, they say.
It startles you, the intensity in them, and your spine straightens unconsciously. It almost makes you want to spit out a salute. You don’t, however, and drop your gaze, maneuvering through the field of other cadets to find your next sparring partner.
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Almost a week passes before you find out who the mystery man is. You’d thought of him frequently in the last week. You had only caught a glimpse of him here and there. Over porridge in the mess hall, catching just the top of his head moving in a group of several others. He moved silently, like a shadow flitting down the halls. You’d seen that same neat black head of hair from the back, weaving in and out of spots seamlessly, soundlessly, escaping attention.
It's only furthering your intrigue. This small, quiet man is supposed to bear some sort of major importance? You’ve replayed the conversation with the girl you were sparring with a few times at this point as well, and her reactions indicate something more than a simple captain in your mind. You’re hesitant to question the other cadets around you, not wanting to look ignorant.
It's only when you show up to a required assembly called by the commander that you finally discover who he is.
The open field is duller, Autumn rolling its way in. The trees nearby have started to turn this week. Yellow, crimson, and orange flutter in the wind. There are quite a few other members of the corps milling about the open field, some getting into a proper formation position for the commander’s address. You waste no time and find your spot in the group easily, glancing around you.
It’s then that you spot him. Somehow, your eyes have managed to pick him out of any crowd in the last week, almost without meaning to. He’s towards the front with a group of squad leaders, arms crossed and expression stoic, clearly waiting for the commander to show up. He’s scanning the crowd; you assume to watch for insubordination of some sort. From what you’ve witnessed in the last week, he doesn’t seem like someone who would be lenient. You eye him with little regard for the others around you.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” the girl beside you whispers again, leaning just a tad to get closer to you.
You look over at her, startled out of your infatuated reverie. It’s that same blonde girl from the sparring session, and her brown eyes are bright, her expression smug. The cadets on the field are beginning to settle. The commander should be out at any moment to address the crowd.
“Hey,” you say, voice wary.
She seemed pretty pissed off the other day, so you didn’t expect her to try to start a conversation, and not now, of all times.
“I just wanted to let you know your little plan didn’t work,” she says, eyeing you smugly, clearly pleased.
“He came by to observe again the other day, and I made sure to show him what I’m made of,” she adds, leaning back into her spot again, eyes facing the front.
You direct your eyes to the front again, finding that same black crop of hair. This girl must be crazy. He’s just a captain. A very good-looking one, but otherwise unnoteworthy. Why is she trying to impress him?
“Right,” you offer, debating with yourself.
You’re not going to bother instigating an argument. You haven’t been trying to do anything, but you are ready to swallow your pride.
“So,” you drag out quietly, not even bothering to look at her.
“Who is he, anyhow?”
You don’t notice the way her head snaps towards you, surprise in her features. You’re far too focused on the captain in front of the audience. He’s speaking to a brunette now, also of a higher rank. They’re practically vibrating beside him, hands clutched. They seem excited, and he seems annoyed. It’s a look you haven’t seen on him yet, and somehow you find it endearing.
“Who is he?” the girl asks incredulously, her voice raising slightly.
She faces back towards the front again. Commander Smith is nearing the small podium they have set up for him, blonde hair glinting in the sun, expression stoic, determined. The group throws off a salute at his presence. This conversation will have to end quickly unless the two of you want to be reprimanded for talking during his speech.
“Yeah,” you murmur quietly, no ounce of humor in your voice, only earnestness.
She cuts you another quick look. She seems extremely caught off guard.
“How can you not know? He’s humanity’s strongest,” she mutters, brows furrowed.
You don’t get a chance to respond to her. Commander Smith is at the podium and has begun to speak, but your eyes widen. They’ve never left his face since you’ve spotted him.
Humanity’s strongest? Levi Ackerman in the flesh? And here you’ve been admiring him for the last week, trying to get him all figured out.
You feel a little dumb. Looking back on some of the casual interactions you’ve witnessed over the last week makes it check out. People avoid him…not because he’s not noteworthy or because he’s quiet, but because he’s intimidating. They’ve called him a one-man army, and here you’ve been casually infatuated with him.
It’s hard not to admire when the clean lines of muscle in his uniform show or when his sharp features catch the light in just the right way. He’s a handsome man and humanity's strongest to boot? You carefully dismiss the embarrassment within yourself.
Why should you be embarrassed at admiring a man of that caliber?
Meanwhile, the troops around you are carefully facing front and center, eyes locked on the commander at the front. He speaks dutifully, voice booming through the crowd. You’re oblivious, though, the gears turning in your brain, carefully analyzing the man you’ve been quietly observing for the last week. You’re facing front and center, but your eyes never stray from your target.
Levi, meanwhile, has been casually glancing over the crowd of cadets. Watching for insubordination, watching for mischief. He’s already heard half the mess Erwin is touting anyway, and he doesn’t need the flowery wording he’s going to use for the masses. He’s also been watching because there’s a nagging feeling, discomfort.
The discomfort he’s been feeling the last few weeks is nothing compared to this. He feels…watched. And it’s not long before his eyes find yours. You’re staring at him. Again.
You don’t stand out from the crowd, but your face is…awed. It catches him off guard. Of course, he could fool himself into thinking it’s over Erwin’s speech, but the way your eyes lock vehemently with his and don’t look away makes something that should be annoyance flutter in him.
He’s had plenty of awed looks, but this is almost…reverent. It’s decidedly uncomfortable, and it almost makes him a little discombobulated. He’s had admiring glances, even awe, for sure. He’s had disgusted and snide looks thrown his way plenty, but this is new. This is unusual.
He’s caught you glancing his way more times than he’d like to count this week, and he’s starting to worry it may be a problem. He’d like to think that maybe Miche had pulled you to the side, had mentioned something about the conversation the two of them had exchanged, but the look you’re giving him doesn’t indicate that.
He drops eye contact and carefully focuses on Erwin, who is speaking passionately now. He shifts uncomfortably.
When your gaze locks with his, something almost giddy shoots through you. As much as you know you should look away, you don’t. You feel pinned in place by the intensity lurking in his expression. Irritation, confusion, surprise, even? It’s hard to tell with him.
When his eyes flick away, back towards the commander, your stomach does some sort of flip, almost like disappointment. You finally shift your focus to the man speaking in front. If you knew any better, you’d think he was maybe embarrassed.
You cut one final glance at him; the last one you think you should dare while the assembly is going on. You should probably pay at least a little bit of attention. Unfortunately, he’s not looking at you anymore. However, it doesn’t escape your notice that the tips of his ears are pink.